Category: The Non-Writing Life

@&^*^@%@$@!%@!))&%#$#$

That’s what’s left of my brain.

I didn’t write or revise one word yesterday. Not one word of my work-in-progress, at any rate. Business letters? Yep, drafted and edited those. Sold stocks on-line. Paid complex bill. Examined very confusing credit card company statements for my dh’s business. Tried to prepare a year-end for another, thankfully simpler business (record keeping only, not the bookkeeping, thank God—I hire out Little Pisser for that) for the accountant. Of course I ran into roadblocks. Of course! Why? Because I can deal with numbers. I do taxes for myself, my dh, and both of our kids. I still do taxes by hand, not using software, because I’m convinced the evil software will try to trick me. That I won’t make as many mistakes filling out the forms by hand.

Where was I? Oh, yes. I can deal with numbers, but I DON’T REMEMBER numbers. My brain doesn’t like numbers. My brain likes letters. When I woke up from my one and only surgery thirteen years ago (not counting my C-sections, because I was awake for them), what looked like pages and pages and pages and pages of words were flipping in front of my eyes. I tried to catch what they said (might have been the secrets to the universe), but no luck. Unfortunately, everything I did yesterday, and in fact everything I did over the weekend, required my brain to remember numbers. So I wouldn’t have to GO OVER SOMETHING FOR THE EIGHTEENTH TIME. Or phone Little Pisser while she’s very sick and ask her to repeat something to me about numbers that she told me in the fall. Something I wrote down in WORD FORM so I would remember it. But then some crafty little devil took over and scratched out some of my words and wrote down numbers in their place. Different numbers! I know by the handwriting that the crafty little devil was me. But I do not know why I changed the numbers.

Thanks to Little Pisser, that particular task is back on track.

The year-end would be ready for the accountant except I realized at the last minute that I was missing one document that, in over a dozen years, would have reached me in the mail by now. So…year-end postponed until next week, when I’ve been assured the document will arrive.

All family taxes are done (and a check written to the Receiver General in one case :::sob:::) with the exception of Eldest Son’s. For some reason, he didn’t receive an information slip when he should have (weeks ago). Early last week, I called the Lady in Charge of Such Things, and she told me The Company in Charge of The Information Slip said they had already mailed out the slip. Tough toodles, because I don’t have it. “Not to worry,” LICOST told me. “They just sent out another. I was hoping you’d got it already. Keep an eye on the mail, because it will get there any day.” That was, oh, several days ago. The slip has not graced our mailbox. And taxes are due April 30th.

I’m giving it until Monday and then LICOST will have to call TCICOTIS for me and get the information to fill into the appropriate spots on the income tax form.

Mercury Retrograde, anyone?

Well. I’m glad yesterday is over. I set out to accomplish all the number-oriented tasks in one day, and, by gum, I nearly met my goal! Accomplishing all such tasks in one day is very important to me, because I find it incredibly difficult to devote the morning to numbers and then the afternoon to words. And if I start the morning with words, sorry, numbers, you ain’t getting my attention at all that day. Because I know once I start doing number stuff, that messes up my word brain and then there goes any writing at all. 

Can you write for part of the day and do :::shudder::: number stuff in the other part? Little Pisser tells me she has no problem doing number stuff in the morning and then gardening in the afternoon. But gardening doesn’t involve spelling, and she’s a bookkeeper, so…

I am deficient. Not morally, just numerically. How about you?

Evil Landlady, who tried to take my son for his apartment damage deposit back in September with the story that his room was damaged in a fire, will be charged today on multiple counts of fraud. This newspaper story says that “one” person got their deposit back. I don’t know if this is my kid or not, because I can’t remember if he reported his incident to the police. Also, I know he helped one other student get his deposit back, too. 

I can’t believe so many people let her get away with it. It didn’t occur to us to allow that to happen. That his deposit was “only” $225 and not the bigger numbers other students got caught with wasn’t the point. Her dishonesty was.

She’ll have to pay back all the deposits.

Kudos to all the fraudees—most of them university students—who had the gonads to report her to the police.

I hope she gets some help.

Here’s another story about the most recent scammees. They did their due diligence and STILL they got scammed. From the paper:

Durning said he’s not sure whether the alleged victims could have done more to protect themselves in this case, as everything seemed to be legitimate. Roy is accused of allowing people to view the place, signing tenancy agreements and giving receipts for cash deposits. She lived in the suite above.

Watch your kids’ backs, everyone!

I’m having my annual mammogram this week. It’s not something I look forward to, but it’s an exercise I commit to without fail. Really, in Canada, there’s no reason not to. Annual mammograms are free for women forty and over. At least they are in my province. I believe they are across the board, but I shouldn’t speak to that when I haven’t looked into it.

I don’t know what the situation is in the States, but it boggles my mind that several provinces in my country (if not all the provinces) offer free annual mammograms to women over forty, and yet so many women continue not to take advantage of this service. I’ve offered to accompany friends who still refuse to go. No, your boobs aren’t too small. Yes, it can hurt if you have glandular breasts or schedule your mammogram for the wrong time of month (going in mid-cycle is best). Yes, the first time is embarrassing. Okay, every time is embarrassing. Just like pap smears are embarrassing. But the embarrassment lessens each time you have it done. Breasts are like teeth. To a mammogram technologist. Compared to a dentist. Think of it like that.

Now, go forth and have your boobs squished. Thank me later.

More pictures, as promised:

Tourists on horseback. “She Who Gave Me Life” calls this beach “Horse Poop Beach.”

 

The mission in the town square.

 

“A Day at the Beach.” Not the beach in front of the hotels. We drove and got away from it all.

 

Not a bad way to spend a Sunday, eh?

Okay, back to the grindstone.

One of the reasons it took me so long to get set up with a new computer recently is that my old one kicked the bucket three days before I left for a week in sunny Mexico. I wasn’t ready to accept that it needed replacing, so I sent it to the computer shop while I was gone. Upon my return, I discovered, yep, it was time for ol’ Delbert to retire, and at that point I needed to research and then shop for a replacement. So while you were all feeling sorry for me, I was actually relaxing (and trying very hard NOT to think about the computer). I didn’t take any work with me, because I planned to catch up upon my return. Ha-ha, joke on me!

Anyway, that’s my convoluted way of explaining why I’m so late sharing some photos with you. But here they finally are!

“She Who Gave Me Life” walking the beach. That’s a fresh water estuary on the left and the Sea of Cortez on the right.

 

I scared the birds at the estuary trying to sneak up on the egret in the foreground.

 

 

Dive-bombing pelican. I followed him with my camera for at least ten frames. This was the shot right before he landed in the water.

 

The elusive Mr. Egret.

More tomorrow!